


sometimes i ignore you, so i feel in control

by magnetichearts



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I hope everyone likes it, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Jon Snow, Rough Sex, Smut, featuring my brand, great, lots of jon being super possessive and toying with sansa, lots of sansa being extremely horny for jon, sansa gets pinned down by jon and its, that's about it, this is the most dom/sub thing i;ve ever written soooooo, yeah it gets explicitly very dom/sub, zero word count control™️
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetichearts/pseuds/magnetichearts
Summary: A hand curls around her waist, and she doesn’t even have to turn her head to know who it is. A heady feeling settles in her gut, makes her head spin.There is only one person in the world who makes her heart beat like that, who makes her blood boil like that.“Sansa,” Jon says.She steps out of his grasp, ignoring the dangerous, dark way his eyes flash as she does so, and raises her wine glass to her lips again. “Jon.”or; sansa wants jon,badly.it's a good thing he wants her just as much.(title from "starring role" by marina)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 190





	sometimes i ignore you, so i feel in control

**Author's Note:**

> i am,,,,completely horrified with myself and the fact that i wrote this in four hours. i did go back and spend the whole day editing it, but still, almost all of it was written within the span of four hours. i really hope that y'all enjoy it because i am going to hell for sure. also ignored SO much homework (thankfully i did get it done later) for the sake of writing this because i just couldn't control myself.
> 
> uh yeah, it's a modern au, and jon is very much a dom, sansa is unabashedly into him, and i was blasting so much music while listening to this. it seems like no matter what i do, i just can't stop writing smut for these two. there's just something about them that makes words just spill out of me with zero control. might as well accept my fate by now. 
> 
> again, hope y'all like it while i am burning in hell.
> 
> **i'm really bored, so if any of y'all ever wanna stop by my blog and chat with me about jon and sansa, i'd love that. or anything got related, tbh.**

She is wearing red lipstick. 

She is wearing red lipstick, and she struggles not to see red when Petyr Baelish hands her a wine glass, smiles like a snake at her. 

Sansa grips the wine glass even tighter, painted nails matching her lips scratching against the glass. Red lips curve into a smile, swallowing back words that spring to the tip of her tongue, bitter, waiting to be hurled. 

She hates him, hates the slick way that he sneers at her, hates the way his eyes rove over her body like it belongs to him, hates the way he makes her skin crawl whenever he speaks to her, hates the way his kisses on her cheek feel more possessive than adoring. And Sansa would not mind being possessed, but not by him. 

She takes a long drink of her wine, stepping just a hair away from him on sky-high heels. The red stains her mouth, stains it even further red, and she hates the way that his gaze falls to her lips as she flicks her tongue out to catch the last drop. 

She wants to slap him, but she can’t, not here, not now. 

She has always been the good girl, in her family. The one who smiles politely and shakes hands, the one her parents trot out when they want to impress the partners. 

And right now, that is what she has been asked to do, hair artfully tousled, squeezed into a black, black dress, wearing sky-high heels as red as her lipstick. She smiles and shakes hands, laughs at the terrible jokes her father’s partners make, lets them look at her. 

Petyr is the only one who ever dares to touch, though, a far too comfortable length he takes, a far too easy measure he abuses as being her mother’s childhood friend. 

He has only ever made her stomach coil. 

She teeters on her heels as she steps back from Baelish, tries to ignore the way his eyes drop to her legs, visible through the slit in her dress. 

A hand curls around her waist, and she doesn’t even have to turn her head to know who it is. A heady feeling settles in her gut, makes her head spin. 

There is only one person in the world who makes her heart beat like that, who makes her blood boil like that. 

“Sansa,” Jon says. 

She steps out of his grasp, ignoring the dangerous, dark way his eyes flash as she does so, and raises her wine glass to her lips again. “Jon.” 

His lips curl into a smile, but there’s no humor in it, no humor in the way his eyes drag over her, lazily, making her skin feel hot. God, he can make her desperate for him with barely a touch, barely a look. 

“That’s a nice dress,” he says. He means the exact opposite, she can tell, from the way his eyes linger on the curve of her collarbone, on the slit near her thigh. 

“Jon Snow,” Baelish says. “I didn’t know they allowed men like you here.” 

The dark look in Jon’s eyes grows deeper, darker, and fuck, Sansa wants to draw that kind of look out of him, the kind of look at makes him look at her like he could destroy her. 

She wants to tug on that mouth with her teeth, touch all of him. Instead, she simply tosses her hair behind her shoulder and hides her smile behind her wine glass. 

“I work at the company,” he points out stiffly. Fuck her for noticing it, but his body is tight, coiled, and he reminds her of a wolf ready to pounce. 

God, she needs air, to get away from them. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she says. She steps away from the both of them, and sets the wine glass down on the table. Tries to find the bathroom to quiet the shaking in her heart, the shaking of her body. 

Eventually she gives up, stumbles into her father’s office and slumps against the wall, closing her eyes. 

Dark, dark eyes flash through her vision, and the memory of that sinful mouth curling into a smile has burned itself into her memory. 

She can’t remember when she started wanting Jon Snow, only that she feels like she’s wanted him forever. Feels like his body is meant to be pressed against hers, wants his mouth swallowing her moans until she comes apart underneath him. Craves him, even, craves for him to fuck her like he wants her so badly he can barely stand it, to leave bruises on her shoulders and neck and hips, to mark her and for her to show the world she’s his. 

Her fingers don’t do it anymore, just leave her to orgasm and leave her unsatiated. There is a hunger growing in her stomach, a hunger that can only be satisfied by his touch and by him alone. 

She wants Jon to grip her hips and _take_ her. 

She presses a shaking hand to her heart, feeling it pound through her breast, about to pass out cause she’s so fucking overstimulated just from thinking about him. 

She pushes herself off the wall and leans against her father’s desk, arms shaking. She leans forward and tries to get herself together, the ends of her hair just brushing against the wood of the desk. Her cunt aches, pulses with desire, and fucking hell, how can she be so turned on at only the thought of him?

Her head is spinning, and she can barely draw a breath in, pressing her thighs together to get _some_ kind of relief, desperate. Her hand moves from where it’s gripped around the edge of the desk, white knuckled, to the slit of her dress, pushing it up to brush aside the scrap of lace wrapped around her hips. 

“Stop that,” a voice behind her commands, and Sansa whirls, heart racing. Jon stands there, hands clenched into fists at his side. 

His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and fuck, he looks so good in his suit standing there that her mouth fucking _waters_ just looking at him. 

Sansa doesn’t listen to him. “Jon,” she gasps, edging her hand closer to her cunt. She can’t take this anymore, can’t take this dance that they’ve been doing, can’t fucking function around him anymore because all she can think of is _him, him, him,_ how badly she wants him, like a drug. 

He steps closer, fists clenching even tighter. His knuckles pulse white, and the same white hot light flashes through Sansa as she sees his hands clench. “Did you fucking hear me?” he asks. “Stop doing that.” 

Her head lolls forward, and she thinks she fucking _whines._ “I can’t,” she protests, her whole body shuddering as she swipes her clit with the lightest brush of her fingers. The pleasure is sharp, and she gasps, moving to swipe her fingers over her soaked flesh again. 

Before she can even do that, however, Jon moves lightning fast, catches her hand and pulls it out of her panties. “I said no,” he growls, voice darker and deeper than she has ever heard it. She writhes against him, fucking dripping because of how wet she is. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Sansa. You’d never disobey me.” 

Sansa presses her hand to his shoulder as his hand creeps closer and closer to her cunt, but refusing to touch it. She’s shaking on those sky-high heels of hers, sure she’s going to pass out at any second.

Her body curves into him, drawn to Jon like it always has been. His name is the only word she can remember, the only word on her tongue. “Jon,” she chokes out. 

His hand creeps closer to her cunt, and she aches for him, for his touch, for his fingers to slip into her. She needs to come, wants to fall apart in his arms. 

“I don’t know, Sansa,” he says. “What would your father think if he found you like this? His perfect little girl, so wet for me she can hardly take it.” As if to prove his point, he skims his finger across her folds over her panties, and the pulse of desire that shoots through her is so strong she swears her vision goes blue-black for a moment, gripping his arms far too tightly. 

Red hair tumbles down her back as she tips her head back, throat arching like a peace offering, a sacrifice. She pushes her cunt into his hand, seeking more, greedy for more. “My—my father?” she manages to stammer out. Right now, she can’t even picture her father’s face in her head, can only think about the feather light press of Jon’s fingers against her cunt, and how badly she wants him to push the lace aside, to press his fingers into her. 

“I’m not sure you deserve it either,” Jon smirks. 

Her eyes shoot open, and she focuses on him. “What—what do you mean?” she asks. 

His eyes darken and the smirk slips from his face. Jon presses his fingers harder against her cunt, but still over her thong, and she keens, arching into his touch. “I see the way you laugh at the other men,” he spits out. “The way you let Baelish touch you. The way he kisses you.” Jon’s breath smells like whiskey, but right now, the only thing she’s getting drunk on is him, and it even takes her a few moments to process what he’s saying. 

“I don’t let him touch me in any way.” This is a lie. 

Jon snarls and grips her closer, drags his fingers _right_ over where her clit is. She’s strung as tight as a bow, and she trembles in his grasp. “You let him look at you. You want him to fuck you, don’t you?” 

She shakes her head. “No, no, Jon. No one else but you.” 

Jon’s hand leaves her cunt to curl around the edge of her lace panties. “Say that again, Sansa,” he commands. 

“No one else but you.” 

Jon snarls, seemingly not satisfied. What she doesn’t expect him to do, however, is to tear her panties away from her body and press his fingers directly against her clit. The sensation is like a lightning bolt has struck her body, and she cries out, too fucking overstimulated. Her vision flashes white, and she arches against him, pressing her cunt into his hand. He doesn’t move, however, just stays there, touching her clit, and god, she needs to come. 

“Jon, I need to come,” she pants. 

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Here, Sansa? In your father’s office, on his desk? Sure you want a poor boy like me to make you come? I thought you wanted those rich boys to _fuck_ you.” His voice is dark, a whisper, a promise.

She shakes her hair. “I want you,” she says. “Fucking me. Using me. Please.” 

Jon groans, fingers slipping from her clit to tease at the entrance to her cunt. Fuck, she can just barely imagine what it would be like to have his fingers in her, and her cunt grows even wetter. “I can feel you dripping for me, Sansa. You want to me fuck you? To use you?” She can scarcely do anything but nod. “Would you do anything I asked you to?” 

“Yes,” she gasps. She’ll agree to anything as long as he makes her come. It’s obscene, the sound her cunt makes as he slides his fingers across it. She can hear how much she wants him. 

“What if I told you you couldn’t come until I told you to?” he asks. “Would you listen?” 

She barely processes his words, her cunt pulsing as he drags his fingers across her folds, teasing her so, but she swallows roughly and nods. “Yes.” 

Jon chuckles darkly. “Aye, you say yes now, but why should I believe you?” Without any sort of warning, he slips a finger inside of her, and fuck, her entire body arches up into him. His fingers are _perfect,_ strong and thick and callused, and she might fucking come just from that. 

“Jon,” she sobs. She’s soaked, overwrought with pleasure. Her cunt clenches around him, and she needs more. 

Hazily, she thinks about how badly she wants his mouth on her cunt, wants his cock inside of her, fucking her until she can’t think straight, fucking her until all she can feel is him. Filling her up and using her. 

“You’re perverse, Sansa. The precious, proper daughter of Ned Stark, already ready to come on my fingers.” As if to prove his point, Jon adds a second finger, and God, she knows she’s going to pass out any second now. 

Jon pulls his fingers out of her and slams them back into her cunt, rubbing against the spot inside of her that makes stars flash behind her eyes. She cries out, fingers digging painfully into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through her, so potent it’s almost painful. “Shhhh,” Jon says. “Don’t want anyone to hear the good girl getting fucked, do we?” 

How can he think? She’d forgotten all about the party, her world narrowed down to Jon’s fingers inside of her cunt and his mouth, whispering in her ear. 

Jon pulls the slightest bit away to press his lips against hers, swallowing her moans, and then his fingers start to move. She can’t help it, can’t stifle the cries and gasps that escape her, but he catches all of them, swallowing them. She needs to come, needs him to bury his fingers to the hilt inside of her, needs him to bring her to her peak. 

He shifts his fingers to that his thumb presses against her clit and she nearly fucking collapses, her only saving grace Jon’s arm, curling around her back and holding her up while his hips press her into the desk. 

He tears his mouth away from hers and laps at the sweat-soaked skin on her neck, salty shea butter skin so fucking soft. His beard scratches against her, and all Sansa can think about is that mouth between her thighs, those hands gripping her hips so tight they leave bruises. 

“I’m not one of your rich boys, Sansa,” Jon promises. “Open your eyes.” 

Sansa can’t, can barely focus on anything other than the way his fingers pull out of her only to slam back into her, feeling like they strike deeper every time. Her walls suck at him, desperate to keep them inside of her, for him to push inside of her and strike her deeper than her own fingers ever could. 

Jon spears his fingers back into her, rougher and faster than usual, and she nearly comes, so fucking close, so close she can see it behind her eyelids, like a haze that envelops her, that clouds all of her thoughts. “Open your eyes, Sansa.” 

She manages to drag them open to find Jon looking straight into hers, pupils blown so wide that the thinnest ring of grey surrounds them. “I’m not a boy, Sansa. I’m a man, and I’ll fuck you like a man. I will take you, and I will use you until you’re begging me for mercy. I’ll make you come so many times you’re _begging_ me to stop.” 

She sobs into the air, breaking the silence. Thrusts her cunt against his fingers, desperate for them to strike deep inside of her. “I need to come. Make me come.” 

Instantly, she knows she’s said the wrong thing. Jon’s face goes dark, and he pulls his fingers out of her until just his fingertips are brushing against her cunt. She cries out in protest, cunt feeling empty. “You don’t get to decide when you come, Sansa. I make you come. Whenever I want to. Understood?” 

She nods, chokes back a gasp. Her lungs heave to take in air, head spinning. Her cunt fucking _hurts_ from how badly she needs to come, how badly she needs him to bury himself inside of her. 

Thankfully, Jon slips his fingers back inside of her, makes her head spin and her vision blur until she’s rocking against his hand, thinking of only him, and only of what he could do to her. “Jon—Jon,” she says, voice cracking on his name. 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he says, “it’s me.” 

“Jon, please,” she begs. She can taste her release on her tongue, so close she can almost see it.

“Quiet, Sansa,” he commands. She presses ruby-red lips together, bites her fucking tongue because she wants to come. “Can’t have anyone else hearing you, can we?” He adds a third fucking finger, just to drive her further insane, thumb slick with her juices as he presses it against her clit. 

She rocks against his hand, sobbing incoherently, hair spilling around her shoulders. Jon sweeps it off her neck and mouths at the curve of her jaw, and then trails his mouth further down. 

When he tugs down the curve of her dress and pulls down the cup of her bra, flicking his tongue over her nipple, a supernova explodes behind Sansa’s eyes, her cunt clenching almost painfully tight around his fingers. “Jon,” she heaves, fingers scrabbling against the wood of the desk. “Jon.” 

Jon flicks his tongue over her nipple in tandem with his fingers moving in and out of her cunt, and she writhes under his ministrations, seeing nothing but red. She can feel herself start to tip over the edge, and she just needs barely another brush to bring her there. She can fucking _feel_ the way her walls flutter around his fingers, clenching around him tighter, how close she is, barely away. She’s going to come in a second, she’s going to, she’s going to, she can feel herself getting higher and higher and high—

And then Jon pulls his fingers out of her and removes his mouth from her breast, and Sansa plummets painfully back to earth, crashing into the ground so viciously she cries out in protest. 

“No!” she says. “Please, Jon.” 

He doesn’t seem the slightest bit affected, running his tongue over his fingers, licking every bit of her slick off of his fingers. “You didn’t listen, Sansa,” he says, reaching forward to pull her dress and bra up. 

Her nipples are painfully hard and her cunt throbs, desperate for an orgasm, the kind of denied pleasure that _hurts,_ it’s so strong. “I told you to stop touching your cunt, and you didn’t listen to me.” His eyes darken, if possible. “I don’t like you around those men.” He skims his hand down her stomach and taps lightly against her clit, not enough to make her come, but enough to send wracking waves of pleasure throughout her body. “This cunt belongs to _me._ This beautiful, pink, wet cunt is _mine._ This body, these nipples, everything belongs to me, and _only_ me. I’m the only one allowed to touch you, not even yourself, understand?” 

She nods numbly, hoping that’ll make him take pity on her and come. “I’m the only one who gets to fuck you, to fucking fill that cunt with my cock until you’re shaking. But we don’t want anyone hearing us now, do we? Maybe this way, you’ll understand that _I’m_ in control here. That you listen to me, no matter what.” 

“Please, Jon.” 

He shakes his head. “You need to learn your lesson. I can’t let a good girl like you get away with touching yourself whenever you want to. You need to be punished.” He leans closer, brushes her ear with his beard. “Wait until we get to my house. I want to take you apart in my bed.” 

Her cunt throbs at the dark promise in his voice, and she nods numbly. He’s not going to make her come now. She can only hold on and let him take her along for the ride. 

There is a stunning flash of clarity that strikes her like a lightning bolt—she would go along with Jon anywhere. A single word from him, and she would jump off a ledge. She trusts him with everything, with her body, her heart, her mind, her soul, _her._ He is the owner of her heart, and she trusts him to take care of it. 

Jon crouches down and picks up the pieces of her thong, stuffs them into his pocket. She’s still quivering against the desk, fingers scrabbling against the grain. “Come on, sweetheart,” Jon says softly, brushing her dress free of wrinkles and adjusting it so it falls properly. “I’ll take you home. I’ll give you what you want.” 

How can she resist him? 

She nods, follows him out the door. It’s a blur to her, but she begs off her parents by claiming a headache (a fact helped by her still wobbly legs and flushed cheeks), waves off their concerns and claims that Jon will take her home. 

They let her go, thankfully, and when they reach his car she all but collapses in. It’s warm, but god, her body is thrumming, and she’s never felt more alive than now. Jon spares her a look as he turns the key, and his mouth curves into a _very_ dangerous smile, and suddenly she wants that smile somewhere else. 

The ride to Jon’s is an utter blur, and if she were held at gunpoint and asked to describe how it went, she could never describe it. All she can focus is on him, on the strong sweep of his jaw and the tight way it clenches, the way his shoulders ripple and shift, the feeling of those sinful fingers inside of her. 

When they finally reach his place, she staggers out of the car like a drunk woman, blindly making her way to the door. Jon grabs her hand and helps her up to his flat, and before the door to his place is even closed, his mouth descends on hers. 

She tugs him closer by his tie, smearing red lipstick all over his mouth, trying to kiss him as deeply as possible. Jon’s touch is like a brand, searing into her skin as he brushes over her hips. With a feather light touch, he drags down the zipper at the back of her thousand dollar dress and lets it crumple to the floor, leaving her in only high heels and her bra. 

Sansa fumbles with his suit jacket, pushes it off his shoulders and tugging his white shirt out of his pants without even waiting for his tie to come off. He toes off his shoes and kicks them out of the way.

“Wait,” Jon says, laying a hand over hers. “You first,” he says. 

Sansa kicks off her heels, moving her from a little taller than Jon to eye level with him. He surges forward and kisses her again, fingers unclasping her bra before pushing the straps off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. 

This time, when she tugs at his shirt, he lets her unbutton it so she can pull it off of him, tug the tie at his neck off so that her Jon, the Jon that wears too much black and loves his dog and whose body sings to her body like a siren song is revealed. She flattens her palms against his chest, reveling in the dips and hollows of his chest, and promises herself that later, one day, she’s going to take her time exploring, discovering every inch of him. 

It takes no time, and then Jon is as naked as she is, and she quivers as he tugs her closer to him. His cock presses against her stomach, hard and thick, and her cunt throbs, wants that inside of her more than she thought possible. 

He pulls back and tugs her down the hallway, to his bedroom. Sansa follows slightly, the burn in her stomach starting up again. God, she wants him, she wants to come. 

When they reach his bedroom, he pushes her down on the bed and crawls over her, brushing back her hair. “You are going to listen to me,” he commands. It’s not a question, not a single bit of uncertainty in his voice. He’s commanding her, he’s telling her, and Sansa feels herself growing wet at the thought. 

Jon leans down and wraps his lips around her nipple, and Sansa gasps, arches into his mouth. Fuck, that fees amazing, the way his tongue flicks over it and sets her aflame. Instantly, she feels like they never left her father’s study, her cunt throbbing, aching for his cock to fill her up, for his mouth to lap at her and make her come. She tosses her head back and arches her back slightly, pushing her breast into his mouth, but Jon’s hand comes down and shoves her hips back into the bed. “I’m in control,” he says again. “Don’t do anything I don’t say.”

Sansa chokes out an agreement, distracted by the way his fingers play so casually at her cunt. He slips just one finger in, rubbing at her walls, that spot that drives her insane, and Sansa’s hands come down at the bed, fisting the sheets into bunches as that little movement overtakes her, slams into her and takes her breath away. 

Jon removes his mouth from her breast and moves further down her body, until he’s pressing kisses to her navel. He shrugs her legs over his shoulders, opening her cunt to him. “God, this cunt is so pretty,” he says, dragging a finger over her folds, knowing how it drives her insane. “It’s mine, Sansa. Only mind. You belong to me.” 

“Yours, Jon,” she says. “I’m yours.” 

He hums. “Aye, that’s right,” he agrees, before licking into her, and her entire world pitches completely back. 

She bows off the bed, a cry escaping her throat at the sheer pleasure assaulting her. Jon just grips her hips tighter and pulls her closer to him, and Sansa grips the sheets so tight she fears she might rip them. 

Jon pushes his mouth closer to her cunt, and then his tongue spears into her, tight and hot and wet, and fuck, he’s fucking into her so hard she’s shaking, seeing stars behind her eyes. His lips slide over her folds and catch every single drop of her spilling from her cunt, his tongue flicking over her labia, and then his teeth brush against her clit in such a way that she screams, the sound tearing itself from her throat. “That’s it, Sansa,” Jon murmurs. “Scream my name.” 

He pushes his tongue back into her, and then it twists and rubs at her walls of her cunt, which clench down around his slick tongue, desperate for some kind of release. She can feel her walls tighten, and fuck, she needs to drag him closer, needs him closer to make her come and explode beneath his touch, like she’s dreamt about for years. 

Jon lashes her clit with his tongue, flicking the nub back and forth quickly and grazing his teeth over it, and _fuck,_ she _needs_ to come more than anything else in the world; and she would do anything so that he brings her to the edge, so that he pushes her off the cliff and gives the release she’s wanted forever, gives her everything. 

Jon opens his mouth wide, and fuck, the sounds of his tongue sliding against her are absolutely obscene, so wet, with her cunt fucking sopping, but she can’t find it in her to care, to care about anything else other than the torment Jon is inflicting upon her right now, the torment he seems only too happy to draw out. 

“Jon,” she says. “Jon—”

He removes his mouth from her cunt and she nearly sobs in denied pleasure, fucking desperate and on the edge of another orgasm. “Beg for it, Sansa. Maybe then I’ll let you come.” 

“I need you, Jon, please,” she tries, but Jon doesn’t do anything other than lift her closer to him, to his mouth. The insatiable way his tongue presses and twists inside of her makes her lungs burn, and she realizes she hasn’t inhaled, so she tries to take in a breath, to clear the spinning of her brain so that she might be able to think, but then Jon moves from her cunt to sucking on her clit, letting his teeth graze it gently before rolling it with his tongue, and fuck, it’s too much. 

“Jon, please,” she tries again, but he doesn’t do anything different. She’s not sure how much longer she can take this, how much longer she can hold on before she splits to pieces on his bed, denied orgasm after orgasm.

“Jon, please, fuck me. Please, please eat me _ou—out!”_ Jon leaves her clit then to spear his tongue back into her, hums into her cunt, and she can feel his lips curl up into a smile, as her voice cracks. 

The vibrations from his mouth are like shockwaves to her cunt, her body bowing off the bed, because fuck, she can’t hold back anymore, can’t do anything but thrash and writhe underneath Jon as he plays her like a fiddle, toys with her in a way a wolf might toy with its prey before it tears it apart. She is the prey, and she is already at Jon’s mercy. The only thing to do is to wait for her fate to come. 

“Come for me, Sansa.” 

Sansa sucks in a breath, blinking to try and get her vision to focus, just as Jon pinches her clit with his fingers while his tongue brushes against the most sensitive spot inside of her, and suddenly, she is shattering, falling apart, tumbling back to earth. Her eyes explode with colors and her back bows off the bed as she comes, beautiful, chaotic, almost vicious, and the sensations overwhelm her as her cunt clenches down around his tongue, as the feel of his mouth on her draws out her orgasm. 

Every cell in her body feels oversensitized, from the soft sheets brushing against her skin to the sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat, to the scrape of Jon’s beard on her inner thigh to the breath in her own throat, it’s all just too much and yet, still, not enough. 

When she finally comes down from her high, Jon is pressing dozens of kisses to her thighs, soft yet with purpose. He looks up at her and smirks. “Good girl, Sansa.” 

Sansa feels the praise flush through her. God, is it possible to have just had a mind-blowing orgasm and _still_ want him? To need him to fuck into her and fill her up? How can she have had so much of Jon and still crave him so badly?

He can tell she still wants him, though, if the way his eyes drag down her body is any indication. “Will you scream my name, this time?” he asks. 

Sansa nods. “Yes, yes I will.” 

Jon moves up her body, the tip of his cock resting against her cunt, and she arches against him, trying to take him in. 

“No,” Jon says, pushing her away. “You don’t get to touch me until I tell you to.” 

She’s trying, she really is, but god, Jon makes her lose control like no one else does, makes her surrender everything to him, and it’s freeing, how well he knows her body, how easily he can make her fall apart like no one else can. 

He drags a hand down the side of her face, fingers brushing gently over her skin, and it shouldn’t be as sweet as it is, but it is. She feels revered, even as Jon tears her apart, because he gives her everything she’s ever wanted. 

There is a moment when he leans down. Presses his lips to hers. Asks against her lips if she has protection. Tells him that they’re fine. She wants him, so badly, more than anything else. 

And then he’s flooding her, stealing the breath out of her lungs as he thrusts into her, filling her up so perfectly, and fuck, she wants to do something, but her eyes roll back into her head and she feels like she’s going to pass the fuck out. 

“Do you like that, Sansa?’ Jon asks, cock buried deep inside of her, so deep she thinks she might go crazy. His cock twitches and she clenches down around it, buries her whimper in his shoulder, stifling down the waves of pleasure wracking through her body. Jon pulls out and rams back into her, and her hips arch off the bed. He grabs her hip and slides his tongue down her neck, and god, that feels amazing, feels like he is the only person left in the world. 

Jon pulls out and then thrusts back in again, so slow she thinks she might die, cunt burning as he fucks her methodically. It feels like he’s filling her with his cock one inch at a time, sliding into her cunt like they have forever. “Jon, please,” she sobs, thrashing her head from side to side. He simply hitches her legs up a little bit. 

“I’ll fuck you how I want to, Sansa,” he promises. “You’ve only had boys fuck you before. Now, you’re going to know what it feels like when a man fucks you.” She writhes, thrashes, does everything she can think of to get him to speed up, to bring her closer to release instead of this endless torture, this eternity of agony, this punishment that she can’t bear. Jon hums into her neck as she drags her nails down his back, drawing blood, but fuck, she needs him to move, needs him to fuck her like he means it, fuck her like she’s been dreaming about, gripping her tight, fucking her so hard it’s painful, fucking her like she knows he can. 

Even while he spears into her endlessly, making her feel like she’s sinking down on his cock for eternity, drowning in all the sensations he’s making her feel, he moves his hand off of her hip down to her clit and taps against it, taking the burn that’s making its way through Sansa’s body form a slow simmer to a low fire, hot and potent, but still not enough to send her over the edge to release. She convulses in his arms, begging for more. It’s too much and not enough, and she doesn’t think she can take much more. 

Jon curls his hand around her hip and brings it up higher, pushing her legs up and apart, and it lets him strike even deeper into her cunt, so deep that she can’t tell when Jon starts and she begins. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me this badly, Sansa,” Jon says. “Your perfect cunt stretched around my cock so well. What would everyone say if they saw you like this? So desperate for cock you’d fuck me without thinking of anything else.” He taps at her clit again. “I like you like this, stretched around my cock, desperate for me. How long have you wanted me?” 

Sansa can’t answer him, just drags a hand through his hair again, tugging on it. “Answer me, Sansa,” Jon says again. 

“Ye—years,” she stammers around, eyes rolling back into her head at a particularly rough, deliciously deep thrust. “I’ve wanted you for years.” 

Jon hums. “How many times did you fuck someone else and wish it was me?” His voice is dark, low, and smoky, dangerous, and Sansa feels a thrill shoot down her back at how dark he sounds. She is not scared of him, not in the usual way, but she wants him to punish her for fucking all those guys before him, wants him to grip her tightly enough to leaves bruises on her arms, to pin her down and fuck into her without any sort of choice. 

“Every time,” she gasps. 

Almost as if he can read her mind, Jon’s hands come down and pushes her arms so they’re pressed against the bed. He holds her wrists together with one hand, above her head, staring down into her eyes dark and vicious. His cock is still buried deep inside of her, so large and filling she can scarcely think of anything other than the complete way he fills her, so cleanly and utterly perfectly that she can barely breathe. 

“Every time you slept with someone, you wished they were me? What did you have them do to you?” 

“I wanted them to hurt me,” she admits, arching her hips up to take him just a little bit deeper. The tip of his cock presses against the most sensitive spot on her walls, and her heart stutters in her chest, her vision spotting white. “I wanted them to pin me down and fuck me until I couldn’t stand it anymore, without giving me a choice.” 

“Did they?” he snarls. 

She shakes her head. “Not in the way I wanted them to.” She locks her eyes with his. “Not in the way I needed them to.” 

Jon growls and pushes into her harder, pinning her down. “And you wanted me to hurt you? To take what I wanted and to fuck you like you didn’t have a choice?” 

She nods. “Please, Jon. Please.” 

He smirks. “How could I refuse you?” 

He pulls out and pistons into her, quick and fast, and it’s so good she’s seeing double, her neck curving as her spine bends, offering her neck to him. She can’t move her arms, can’t raise them to rake through his hair and across his back, and it makes it so much better and so much worse, because all she can do is take what she is being given, and oh, what he is giving her. 

His cock scrapes against her cunt, and then he starts whispering in her ear. “You wanted this, didn’t you, Sansa. You wanted to be stuffed full with my cock, my filthy fucking cock, and taken until you couldn’t breathe, until you came so many times you were begging me to stop, right? You wanted me to hurt you, to make you take what I gave you? Is that how much of a slut you are, Sansa? You’re such a slut you’ll fuck a bunch of other guys just to try and get a taste of how I would treat you? Well, tell me, how do I treat you?” he asks, slowly driving so deeply into her she sees stars, her hips pushed into the bed. “ Like you’ve always wanted?” 

“Jon, Jon,” she breathes. She is capable of saying nothing but his name, the only word she knows. “Seven hells, _Jon.”_

“Your cunt feels so good around me, Sansa, so hot and tight and wet and— _fuck,_ Sansa, do you know how much I want to use this cunt, how much I want to fuck this cunt every day, how much I want to fill it with my cock, over and over and over again? You’re taking me so good, so hot and wet, and you’re so tight. Are you a good girl, or whore, Sansa? Only whores take cock so good.” As if to prove his point, Jon uses his free hand to pull her closer, to plunge into her even deeper and to let the waves of orgasm begin to wash over her body. “Don’t come yet, Sansa. You don’t get to come until I tell you to.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut and clenches down on his cock, trying to stave off the impending orgasm. She can only hold it off for so long, and with every thrust, every time the tip of his cock drags against her walls, Sansa feels herself getting closer and closer, helpless and unable to do much about it. 

She wonders if she will have bruises around her wrists come morning. 

Jon thrusts into her, quick and clean, and it brings her attention back to him, his cock buried deep inside of her, the burning that is spreading throughout her body. “Open your eyes,” he commands. “I want to see you as you come.” 

Sansa struggles to open her eyes, and every time that Jon plunges into her, all she wants to do is tip her head back and revel in the sensations, but she manages to do so. Jon’s dark eyes bore into hers, and he lets go of her hands to curl both around her hips, pulling her closer to him so he can strike harder, deeper, rougher. 

Sansa uses her hands to rake her nails down Jon’s back, utterly overtaken by him. He feels like he is everywhere, surrounding her, pinning her down, the heavy weight of his body pressing her into his bed, pressing his cock into her cunt. 

“You look beautiful like this, in my bed, underneath me.” 

“I love you,” she breathes. She can’t help it, but she does. God, she’s loved Jon for almost as long as she’s wanted him, loved him with every bone in her body, and she’s going to let him know. “I love you.” 

Jon leans down and kisses her, hard and passionate, but she can feel the emotion behind it. “I love you,” he whispers back. “Now come for me, Sansa. Come for me. Come for me while looking into my eyes.” 

He pulls her closer, drags his thumb over her nipple and roughly thrusts into her, and she breaks around him. The last thought she has before everything in her mind shatters is _I love you._

He whispers his love for her into her ear as she comes, white hot light blinding her vision as she shakes around him, cunt clenching down on his cock, and her body so tight she cannot breathe, and then his teeth rake down her neck as she presses her head into the bed, back arching like the curve of a bow. She feels Jon spill into her a few seconds later, burying himself deep within her, and it draws out her own orgasm until she sighs and melts against him softly. 

She runs her hands up Jon’s back and frames his face with her hands, pulling him from where his face is buried in her neck so that their eyes lock. She traces her fingers over his face, follows the dips and curves of his bones, runs her hand through his hair. She will never stop looking at him like this, never stop feeling this way around him. 

She tugs him down so he kisses her, deeply, softly, reverently. “I love you,” she whispers against his lips. 

“I love you.” 

Jon then pulls out of her gently and heads into the bathroom off of his room. He comes back with a wet towel and cleans off the both of them before tossing his towel into the hamper by the bathroom door. Sansa pulls back the covers of the bed, and slips underneath it, Jon following her. 

She wraps her arms around his chest and tucks her face into his neck, pressing light kisses there. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” he asks, tracing his fingers over her wrists. She smiles into his skin. 

“Of course you did, Jon, but just as much as I wanted you.” She reaches up and strokes his face. “You gave me everything I wanted.” 

Jon’s face softens, and he runs a hand through her tousled (now probably ridiculously tangled) hair. “You’re so beautiful, Sansa. I can hardly stand it.” 

She blushes a bright red then, she’s sure of it, kisses him softly. She never wants to leave, wants to stay here in the cocoon of his arms for the rest of her life. “Are you ok with staying here forever?” 

He laughs. “As long as you want to.” 

She closes her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder, pulling up the covers so that the both of them are underneath. “I’m sure.” 

Jon reaches over and turns the lamp light off, and then they’re plunged into darkness. 

She feels his arms come around her and hold her tightly, and she presses her head against his chest a little harder, letting the sound of his steady heartbeat lull her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> your comments and kudos make me happier than jon seeing sansa! you can find me on tumblr:@[parkersedith](https://parkersedith.tumblr.com)


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